What do you think?
Rate this book
Arthur Rimbaud is remembered as much for his volatile personality and tumultuous life as he is for his writings, most of which he produced before the age of eighteen. This book brings together his poetry, prose, and letters, including "The Drunken Boat," "The Orphans' New Year," "After the Flood," and "A Season in Hell," considered by many to be his. Complete Works is divided into eight "seasons"—Childhood, The Open Road, War, The Tormented Heart, The Visionary, The Damned Soul, A Few Belated Cowardices, and The Man with the Wind at His Heels—that reflect the facets of Rimbaud's life. Insightful commentary by translator and editor Paul Schmidt reveals the courage, vision, and imagination of Rimbaud's poetry and sheds light on one of the most enigmatic figures in letters.
Author Biography: Arthur Rimbaud, born in 1854 in Charleville, France, is hailed as the father of Symbolism. His most famous works of poetry include The Drunken Boat and A Season in Hell. He died in 1891.
Paul Schmidt was, in addition to a translator, a playwright, actor, and author of two books of poetry.
656 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1870
Orphée, de l'enfer tragique embouchant les boutes,I hardly know Rimbaud, but this sounded similar to the small number of poems I had seen. I didn't completely understand it, but I'm afraid that's my usual reaction to Rimbaud, I need to reread them several times before they fully make sense. It sounded nice.
Clairon de cris humains, musicien des douleurs,
Orphée monte et chante. O sa lyre en ses pleurs
Est comme un bois vivant que brûle le déluge.
La lyre d'Orphée, hélas ! était sept fois brisée.
De la mort lente et sûre il baissait les paupières,
Et les pleurs de ses yeux crevaient les rocs de pierre,
Lorsque, parmi l'airain et les lames d'été,
Sur un char flamboyant de blanche escarboucle orné,
Immortel, il franchit les mondes et les âges,
Et s'en vint jusqu'au seuil des suprêmes mystères,
Où, défaillant d'amour, il perd tout son génie.
O merveille ! il entend ! son regard voit encore !
Eurydice ! l'amour !... Il se penche, il la touche...
Ai-je vu, dans la nuit qui régnait sur l'enfer,
Plus d'un couple heureux ainsi se confondre en pleurs ?
Orphée ! Ah ! que ton luth est doux comme la mort !